


A Secret Melody

by philaetos



Series: Carry On Countdown 2020 [6]
Category: Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F, Fem SnowBaz, Genderbending, Secret Relationship, lesbians with swords and pretty dresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27804850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philaetos/pseuds/philaetos
Summary: There’s something about the princess… something heady, and powerful, and overwhelmingly appealing. Watching her dance like she is now, all flowy black hair, spinning golden dress, and devastating grace, it’s like watching a fire burn. It’s beautiful and tempting, and you feel an irresistible pull to it, but as much as you want to, you cannot get closer. Because if you do… If you do... well, you burn.Written for the Carry On CountdownDay 6 - WLW
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030371
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	A Secret Melody

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to write female Snowbaz for the longest time, and I’m obsessed with the idea of a gay princess falling in love for her guard, so here we are

**Simone**

There’s something about the princess… something heady, and powerful, and overwhelmingly appealing. Watching her dance like she is now, all flowy black hair, spinning golden dress, and devastating grace, it’s like watching a fire burn. It’s beautiful and tempting, and you feel an irresistible pull to it, but as much as you want to, you cannot get closer. Because if you do… If you do... Well, you burn.

It’s the most mesmerizing thing you’ve ever seen, but it’s dangerous, so dangerous. It could destroy you.

Maybe you want it to destroy you. Maybe you dream of it, getting your hand too close to the fire, close enough to get hurt. 

But you can’t let it happen. 

You can’t let those intrusive thoughts that you have win.

So you just stand there, watching the fire burn from afar, because it’s all you could ever get.

**…**

**Baz**

Auguste’s hands are on me, pulling me close as we dance together, so close that I can see those minuscule freckles on his nose his servants do their best to conceal, because no one wants to see anything that could be considered an imperfection on a prince’s face.

No one wants to see anything that could be considered an imperfection on a future king’s face.

Auguste is the third son, he should have never even been allowed to imagine how heavy a crown would feel as it rests on his head. That was without taking me into account. 

Me. My hand. My kingdom.

He’ll get all of this, and so much more, a week from now, when our lives will be forever tied together. 

It’s a heartbreaking arrangement, but it’s the best one I could hope for. No one would have let me marry someone I truly wanted. My duty, my bloodline, it’s more important than my happiness. I’m a princess, an heir to a throne, before I’m a person.

The crown is such an important part of my being, sometimes I forget that I’m a person. That the crown is something I can take of. Sometimes I lie awake at night, staring at my ceiling, my ears so full of ‘ _Your Highness_ ’es that I forget I have a name, a proper one. Sometimes, days go by without anyone saying it. Sometimes, I think they all forget I have a name too.

Why would they need to remember it? I’ll never be more than what I am now. A royal. A title. 

Princess.

I see all the people around me wishing they were that. They all dream of living in the royal palace, of the luxury, of the stunning clothes and shiny jewels and outstanding presents. I long for what they have. For a freedom I’ll never be given. 

Auguste’s hands start to feel less heavy on me, and I feel a weight lift of my chest as they’re finally gone. I enjoy his company. His smiles and witty comments and jokes that never fall flat. I despise his presence. His hands on my waist, back, shoulders, his breath on my neck. I don’t want to be touched by him. I don’t want to be touched by anyone. 

Except…

When my eyes look for her, they meet the blue of hers, fixed on me. 

Was she watching me?

**…**

**Simone**

The princess caught me staring. 

I used to pretend it was solely because it’s part of my job, looking at her. I _am_ part of her guard, after all. But then I slowly came to realize that I didn’t look at her like I should.

I didn’t only look at her to make sure she was safe and no one was trying to cause her harm. I also looked at her because I _like_ it. I like seeing her hair fall, threaded with diamonds for parties like this, looking like the night sky. I like seeing her brown skin, imagining how smooth it would feel under my fingers. I like seeing her grey eyes, when I can catch glimpses of them, like two storms always raging on her peaceful face. I like seeing sweat form beads on her forehead and elegant brows after an afternoon riding or an evening dancing, because it makes her look _human._

The princess rarely looks human. 

Except when she lets herself be. 

Those are rare occasions, so very rare, but I cherish them all. It always happens when she’s alone with me. 

She’s in the library, and I’m watching her, because that’s what a guard does, and she twists her hair around her fingers, even though she should be somewhere else, whispering some sentences from the book she’s reading, smiling at the characters and their actions. 

She’s in the garden, and I’m watching her, because that’s what a guard does, and she picks one of the flowers, even though she’s not allowed to, and bring it to her nose to smell it, then slipping it in the hidden pocket of her skirt, her little secret to bring back to her room ; she has a dozen faded roses there, that she refuses to throw away, they’re her treasures. 

She’s in the corridors at night, and I’m watching her, because that’s what a guard does, and she walks barefoot, even though she should be in bed, whispering verses from her favorite poems to me or simply sharing her thoughts with me, and asking for mine.

I so wish we could get one of those moments tonight. _Any_ moment, really, before I inevitably lose her forever.

Can you lose something that’s never truly been yours?

It’s not the first time I’ve asked myself this question, but seeing her celebrating her upcoming wedding to this indistinct prince from one of those indistinct northern countries, it’s making the voice in my head that I’ve tried so hard to shut up come back. 

_She’s a princess, a future queen, and you’re nothing. You could never have her._

**…**

**Baz**

I see hurt flashing in her eyes before she looks away, and I feel my own heart share her sorrow as I’m passed from Auguste’s arms to my father.

At least it means it’s the last dance.

It’s an old tradition.

The first and last dance of the last party before the wedding belongs to the father of the bride, to hold his daughter one last time before he gives her away to her husband.

I know that Father is talking to me, I can feel his breath on my neck as he speaks, hear the deep ring of his voice, but I can’t focus on the words he says. I don’t care about the words he says.

The only thing on my mind now is the woman with a sword at her hip, my emblem on her chest, and sadness in her eyes.

I can’t pretend I don’t know what caused her pain. It’s me. My wedding. The fake smiles I gave Auguste all night, the hands I let him put on me, the vows I’ll make in a few days. 

I never meant to cause her pain, but it’s all I ever do.

**…**

**Simone**

When the princess’s dance with the king ends, I feel like I’m taking a breath for the first time this evening. It’s over. This stupid party is over, she’s going to come to me, and I’m going to walk her back to her room, because that’s what a guard does.

Her eyes seem to say sorry when her mouth, cold as ever, calls my name to order me take her room.

I obey her gladly, and not just because it’s my job. Because I want nothing more than for her to be far from this room, far from this man.

The walk is silent, as it always is when there’s a risk we might meet someone on the way to the royal apartments, but the silence isn’t broken when we close the door, as it usually is. I think she’s waiting for me to say something, her grey eyes catching glimpses of me, her stance slightly hesitant, but I don’t really know what to say to her. I don’t know what _Simone_ wants to say to her, so instead, I maintain my role as a guard a little longer.

“Would you like me to call for a servant to help you undress, your Highness?”

I know she wouldn’t. She hasn’t called a servant to undress her once, since she first closed the door on the both of us. 

**…**

**Baz**

Your Highness.

The words sting more than they should. 

Is she really angry at me?

She hasn’t called me ‘Your Highness’ between these walls for so long…

I clear my throat. “No, I wouldn’t. There’s something I want you to do, though.”

She adjusts her belt. It’s a habit she has, albeit not a necessary one. The belt fits perfectly around her hips. “What is it?”

I offer her my hands. Months ago, this gesture alone would have highly shocked her, and made her cheeks turn red. Guards aren’t supposed to touch the person they’re watching, unless they absolutely need to to protect them. But now… Well now, she doesn’t flinch when I reach out to touch her. She doesn’t flinch for the same reasons, at least. “Dance with me,” I ask her.

Ask, not tell.

She’s one of the few people I ask to do things. I want her to have a choice. Always. When the choice is me, my heart melts, but I can’t demand of her that she gives herself to me when I’m going to give myself to another one. 

My body, at least.

My heart, it’ll forever be hers.

She takes my hand. The feeling of the calluses all those years swinging a sword around gave her against my smooth skin makes me smile. I smile more when she puts her other hand on my hip, mirroring the spot of her sword on her own hip. Her hand should be higher, to dance properly, but I don’t care about doing what’s proper now. I never do when I’m alone with her. 

We start swinging in place to the rhythm of an imaginary music. It’s messy, Snow is only graceful and agile when she fights, but it warms my heart more than any perfectly executed dance with Auguste ever could.

“I hated seeing you dance with him,” she admits after a moment, bitterness in her voice.

I hated that she had to see me dance with him.

“All night, the only person I wanted to be dancing with was you.”

It breaks my heart that it wasn’t possible. Or rather, that it’s only possible in the privacy of my room, behind a closed door, as if it were a shameful secret. 

She’s a secret. I can’t change that. I’m the heir to the throne before I’m anything else, I can’t love her in plain sight.

But it’s not a shameful one. I could never be ashamed of loving her.

She pull me closer, her hand moving to the small of my back to press me against her. I can feel her chest against mine. It’s a wonderful, illicit feeling.

“Do you need help with your dress, now, Baz?”

Baz.

My name.

Not ‘Your Highness’.

Just my name. 

Baz.

I don’t have to be anyone else with her. I can take off all of my masks. Show her who I truly am. 

She’s the only person I’ve ever revealed my heart to who wasn’t scared of what she saw. 

**...**

**Simone**

”Can I?” I ask again when she doesn’t give me any answer.

It has been a delight, seeing this beautiful gold that suits her skin so very perfectly, but I need to see it slide down her arms, a deliciously indecent fall of cloth. 

“Please,” she finally answers, with her aristocratic accent, making my heart miss a beat. 

Princesses don’t say ‘please’ to guards.

But I suppose that here and now, with only the stars for witness, she is not really a princess, and I’m not really a guard.

I let go of her only so that she can turn around, and then my fingers start working on the laces of her dress, because that’s what a lover does. 

My hands were shaking so much, the first time they did this. Now, they’re steady, accustomed to doing this. Or rather, _undoing_ this. 

A rustling of fabric follow the drop of her dress, quickly followed by another when I pull on the single lace that holds her underskirt in place over her corset. 

Her corset. The only piece of clothing she has left. 

I try not to let my eyes follow the curve of what’s _under_ her corset. Her plump bottom. Her hips, more narrow than most. Her impossibly long thighs.

I’ll get to look at this, to touch this, if I just take off this one last thing. She asked me to undress her, I have to do that before anything else.

My fingers make quick work of her corset. They’re trembling this time, but not with hesitation. With want. With need. Need for her skin, need for _her_. 

Finally. 

She’s completely, gloriously naked. I don’t want her to turn around just yet, so I put one of my hands on her stomach, keeping her close as I lean to press a kiss to her shoulder that sends a shiver down her spine. My other hand expertly unties the part of her hair that was up, in one swift motion, her brooch falling on the carpet with a faint sound.

I watch her hair spill in dark waves as the hand on her stomach travels up her body to cup one of her round breasts. The pleased sigh she lets out is like music to my ear. 

She’s wonderful with her violin, but she’ll never play it as well as I play her body, drawing the most beautiful sounds out of her. 


End file.
